“What is all this about?” Dempwolf smirked as he watched Worthington work.
“I’ve had enough,” Worthington said. “I’m finished.”
“Finished?”
“I’m bringing all of this to an end,” he explained. “These past few weeks have been tormented me more than any in my entire life. I’ve single handedly brought disaster upon my house and those within it, by no fault of their own. Had I been honest from the start then none of this would have unraveled as far as it has. I see that now, nearly too late. However, where I’m able, I intend to make right what I’ve set amiss.”
He held up the letter.
“This is a message to the electors, notifying them of all my activities in Selaria and inviting a thorough investigation into my books—both sets of books.” He tossed the letter down and took his seat again, the weight of his decision evident in his sagging shoulders. “I’m coming clean, Dempwolf. Come what may.”
Dempwolf stood silently for a moment as he took in the news. He didn’t look pleased, but then Worthington expected nothing less. Had he been in a similar situation he’d have been equally disappointed to lose a partner so suddenly. Nonetheless, Dempwolf would recover. Worthington had no doubt. He was a resourceful man, and his ties to the meritocracy ran deep.
“So the businessman wishes to become the white knight,” Dempwolf frowned. “And what will you tell them about me?”
“Nothing,” Worthington said. “This is about me, not you. I’ve made it clear that you had nothing to do with my affairs in Selaria and have gathered the necessary documents to reinforce that claim. You’ll be free of this tangle in a matter of days. What you do after that is your business, not mine.”
“I appreciate the consideration,” Dempwolf smirked, “but that won’t be necessary.” He paced sideways in front of Worthington’s desk and reached out to fiddle with one of its ornaments. “As much as I admire this little fantasy of yours, I’m afraid it doesn’t suit me. Not in the least.”
Worthington eyed him curiously. Dempwolf was actually smiling despite everything Worthington had told him. Worthington could not see the humor in the situation, and it left him unsettled.
And then he realized his error—a single oversight and a fatal underestimation.
“Where are the letters?” he asked.
Dempwolf’s smirk broadened into a grin. “They’re in a safe place. And with your cooperation I’ll see to it personally that they never haunt you again.”
“I’m done playing these games,” Worthington warned. “I won’t be drawn in again.”
“You misunderstand me,” Dempwolf laughed. “I want you out. I’m happy to see you go. I endorse your decision, in fact. In the last few weeks you’ve made it painfully clear that I have partnered myself with someone entirely unfit for the meritocracy. You’re an undue risk, Terrin. One that I welcome shedding.”
“I trusted you,” Worthington said.
“Only one of your many sins,” Dempwolf said. “A word of advice between two men of business, never trust someone with something you can’t afford to lose.”
“What is it you want?” Worthington asked.
“I want you to destroy that letter, and any others like it,” Dempwolf said. “We both know you’ve been sitting on quite the fortune in Selaria. It would be a shame to see it dissolved needlessly by the electors when it can be put to much better use. Tomorrow, you’ll transfer all of your accounts—all contacts you possess in Selaria—over to me.”
“This isn’t just some business maneuver,” Worthington said. “This is my responsibility!”
“You’re in no position to negotiate with me here,” Dempwolf said. “I’ve read these letters, Terrin. Even for a romantic they’re indigestible. However, that’s not the only sin they contain. Is it?”
Worthington shrunk in his seat as Dempwolf sought to close in around him.
“There is no card you can play. No avenue out,” he said. “I have the ace. Either you deliver your accounts over to me or I release these letters and we see what remains of you and your family when the meritocracy is done with you. You won’t have one copper to leave them when I’m through with you.”
Worthington stared at the man, his mind turning over his circumstance as he sought for some loophole in Dempwolf’s plan. Some detail that he’d overlooked. But he couldn’t see one. So long as Dempwolf had the letters Worthington’s entire house was bound for ruin.
“It doesn’t matter,” Worthington said, accepting the inevitable. “Whether you release those or I send this, the end will be the same.”
“For you, perhaps,” Dempwolf shrugged. “But aren’t you forgetting them?”
His finger twisted as he pointed about the room and Worthington’s heart sank further than he could imagine it possible.
“Are you threatening my family?” he asked.
“Not just your family,” Dempwolf said, approaching the desk. “I’m threatening everyone that you’ve ever been close to. Your family. Your lovers. Your servants. Everyone. Not one of them will go unscathed if you resist me. We’ve already proved how far I’m willing to go.”
He loomed over Worthington as he spoke, the greed in his eye illuminated in a sinister light. Worthington fell back in his chair, his chest heaving weakly with the effort just to breathe as he thought of Mary, Emmaline, Margarete, and Lewis. None of them would be safe.
He teetered slightly, his eyes wandering unfocused as he watched everything he’d worked to build crumbling before him. There was nothing left. He had no options. Dempwolf had delivered the killing blow and picked his bones in one fell swoop.
“How?” Worthington asked, his voice weak as he leaned forward against his desk. “How could you do this?”
“As I said, you were never fit for the meritocracy,” Dempwolf sneered. “It’s a dangerous thing to love anything, Terrin. It leaves a man vulnerable to all sorts of tragedy.” Gathering his coat from the chair he made for the door, pausing in the entry to cast Worthington one last victorious glance. “I expect the necessary documents first thing tomorrow morning.”
With that he turned and left.
Worthington slumped out of his chair and onto his knees, the last of his strength draining from him.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Margarete's Choice
MARGARETE WALKED WITH DELIBERATION AS she returned from the theater. The weight of the case she carried pulled against her arm, beating against her hip every time she took a step. She focused in front of her, the walk buying her time to think of what she was about to do. The pain she felt from Charlotte’s loss still lingered with her, but no longer did she shed tears—the well had finally dried up.
When she turned down the street to the brothel, she spotted Faye sitting on the porch. She looked terrible, her head propped up by one of her arms as she fought off much needed sleep. She didn’t notice Margarete at first, but when she did, she leapt up from the steps and came running from the house.
“Margarete!” she cried. The look of relief at the sight of her shone through as she embraced her. “You’re alright. Septigonee’s fortune, you’re alright!”
Margarete returned the embrace, holding Faye as she sobbed fresh tears of joy.
“Why would you do that?” Faye asked, her body shaking with each sob. “Why would you run off like that? Don’t you realize what you did to us, not knowing what would happen to you?”
“I know,” Margarete said as she stroked Faye’s head and held her close to her bosom. “I’m sorry for that. I honestly didn’t know what I was thinking.”
“But you’re alright now?” Faye asked, letting her go and recovering herself. Her smile remained as she laughed with joy.
Margarete nodded. “I will be.”
“What happened?” Faye asked. “Was he there?”
“Yes,” Margarete said. “And we have nothing more to worry about. He won’t bother us again.”
She handed Faye the case Dempwolf had given her. Faye looked confuse
d, but at Margarete’s encouragement she unclasped the case and opened it. Her eyes went wide as she realized the contents.
“Septigonee’s fortunes!” she gasped. “All of this for a few letters?”
“It doesn’t matter how much he gave us; it will never replace what they took,” Margarete said. “But it will be enough for us to carry on a while longer.”
“Us?” Faye asked.
“Yes,” Margarete smiled. “Us. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget my part in Charlotte’s death, but I can see to it that what she started here isn’t lost. You were right. This is what she would have wanted.”
“Wait,” Faye said as Margarete turned toward the house. “Where are you going?”
Margarete climbed the steps with vigor, flinging open the door. “There’s one last thing I have to see to,” she said.
She marched forward into the house with steely determination with Faye chasing after her as she struggled to close the case. As she entered the girls clambered around her, asking for details of where she’d been and what was happening. At the sight of Faye and the money they gasped with surprise. One girl even screamed. Nowhere had any of them seen so much money in their lives.
Margarete didn’t stop to answer any of them just yet. She kept on walking until she’d passed through to the back door. Throwing it open, she entered the courtyard. There, working alongside two of the other girls was Hetty. When the three girls saw Margarete they paused from their work, wiping their brows with their sleeves.
Only Hetty rose from the ground, her expression falling when she saw the look in Margarete’s eyes.
Hetty stumbled down the steps as Margarete shoved her from the front porch, narrowly keeping her feet to keep from taking a tumble. The other girls were clambering to come through the front door as they followed after Margarete. No one knew what to say. Things were happening so quickly. Margarete had surprised them all when she’d seized Hetty, dragging her through the house and onto the steps. She was a woman-fiend. Stunned by her sudden brashness, no one had been able to react.
“What are you doing?” Faye demanded, rushing down the steps to Hetty’s aid. “What has gotten into you, Margarete?”
“This is her,” Margarete said. “The girl who has been slinking about, passing information about us to Dempwolf and his man. She’s the one who ransacked our room. And it was her that sold Charlotte out.”
As she laid the last charge against her all the girls grew quiet.
Faye’s expression fell. “That can’t be true,” she said. She turned to look at Hetty, but the Hetty’s gaze was focused on the ground.
“Ask her yourself!” Margarete said. “The girl has been silently digging a pit for us since she first arrived.”
“Tell me this isn’t true,” Faye urged. She held onto the girl tightly as though she wasn’t willing to abandon the perception of her she knew. “Is it?”
“A man came to me with an offer,” Hetty said. “I needed the money, so I told him a few things. What else would you expect me to do?”
“No,” Faye said, letting go of Hetty. Her hand went to her mouth as she stepped backwards. “You didn’t…”
“She did,” Margarete said. “And it’s because of her that Charlotte is dead.”
“I didn’t think they’d kill her,” Hetty pleaded. “They just wanted to know how to get the letters back.”
“And she didn’t think twice about throwing any of us in their path to find them,” Margarete said.
“Hetty, how could you?,” Faye said. Her look of bewilderment clung stubbornly to her face. “All this time I was helping you adjust to life here, and you were working for Dempwolf and his men?”
Faye shook her head. She’d had enough. Stepping away, she climbed the stairs again and joined Margarete’s side.
“You once told me that the world is filled with people who were only looking out for themselves,” Margarete said. “That everyone was only trying to use each other for their own gain. But it’s only you that will have to live in that world—because it’s you that has created it for yourself. From this moment on you’re no longer welcome anywhere near this house or any of my girls. Do you understand me?”
Hetty looked bitterly at Margarete, clearly ruffled by her sudden ousting. Nevertheless, she nodded.
“Now go,” Margarete commanded.
Adjusted her dress, Hetty glared back under the many stares coming from the house. She looked longingly toward Faye—as though seeking after one final saving grace. But Faye would not return her gaze. She hung closely on Margarete’s arm, staring intensely at the ground.
Finally, clutching her shoulders, Hetty turned and set off down the street. She walked without direction, as if unsure what to do or where to go next. The girls watched her as she went until at last she turned the corner at the end of the street and was lost from view.
All the girls clustered together on the steps, still struck by the sudden turn of events. None had the courage to speak up. None knew exactly what to do. The tension still hung over them as they considered what was to come. The house was shaken, and everyone was waiting to find out whether it would remain standing.
“What happens now?” Faye asked, voicing everyone’s thoughts.
“We continue on,” Margarete said, letting out a sigh as she channeled Charlotte’s words. “Together—as we’ve always done. It’s what Charlotte would have expected from us.”
“But, what about your ticket?” Faye asked. “I thought you were leaving.”
Margarete shook her head. Taking the case from Faye she fished out the ticket Worthington had written out. She held it in her hands a second as she thought once more of her plans to leave. She’d been running from her circumstances then, but as she looked at the girls gathered around her, she saw their needs as much as her own.
They needed her, and she needed them.
“This is where I belong,” Margarete said. In a motion she tore the ticket in half and tossed the pieces aside. As she did, she felt a profound calm come over her. This was her home, and for the first time she truly believed she was in the right place. “It’s what Charlotte would have wanted,” she added.
“I think so, too,” Faye said, hugging Margarete again.
The tension was beginning to disperse, and though they didn’t know what challenges tomorrow would bring Margarete was confident that they could manage. They would find their way one day at a time. After all, they’d survived this one. It was a testament to what they could accomplish together. Despite everything that had happened, the house still stood.
The two of them turned and joined the girls, ushering them into the sanctuary of the home.
You once told me that a man would only ever be as great as he was regarded by those in his closest circles. I didn’t understand the truth in that statement then, and I think, to be candid, neither did you.
—Excerpt from Worthington’s Letters of Confession
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Emmaline's Choice
EMMALINE WATCHED THE MINUTE HAND of the clock over her fireplace turn as the seven o’clock hour approached. The hours had dragged on, stubbornly resisting change as she urged the minutes to come and go. She clutched her bedpost, twisting it in her hands as she counted down the final sixty seconds.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the moment came.
Pulling her suitcase out from under her bed, Emmaline glanced about her room one last time. It was odd to say goodbye to a place after so short a time. It was a blessing in a sense—there would be little for her to miss. In fact, in a few years she doubted she’d have any memory of the place.
Opening her door carefully, she listened for anyone in the halls. With things as unraveled as they were, her parents had been almost non-existent throughout the day. To the best of Emmaline’s knowledge. her mother had kept to her room while her father had remained withdrawn in his study. Meals had been delivered by the servants, and, apart from Anne’s periodic visits, communication wa
s almost non-existent.
With the coast clear, Emmaline crept down the hallway, careful to walk softly as she lugged her suitcase. At the stairs she took a moment to peer down on the ground floor before slipping down to the landing. She had enough sense to know generally where the servants would be at this hour, but she didn’t want to dawdle in case any of their routines had been disrupted as well.
At the landing she doubled back, darting through the halls as she made her way to her uncle’s room. After all he had done for her, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without saying goodbye. It wouldn’t have been good manners. Of all her family members, he had been the one to show her the most kindness in helping her adjust. Without him, she would never have managed on her own.
Kneeling at his door, she could hear his footsteps as he shuffled about inside. She wanted to knock, but she knew she couldn’t. Fishing out a letter from her suitcase, she placed it carefully under the door so that only the corner lay exposed.
She hoped he would understand.
Not wasting any time, she slipped away again as she made her way toward the back of the estate. From there she could make her exit, crossing the lawn through the gardens and onto the grove. It was her best chance at getting away unseen.
Passing through another hall, Emmaline froze suddenly. There were voices just ahead. With panicked glances she searched for a place to hide, noticing an open sitting room beside her. She darted inside, shoving her suitcase under one of the sofas and crawling under with it.
The voices drew nearer as Anne and another one of the handmaids passed through the hall. They paused at the door for a moment, mumbling something about drafts, before shutting the door.
Drat! Emmaline cursed.
Her way had been cut off. She wasn’t sure how she would reach the back of the house now, especially with Anne in that corner of the house. Clambering out from under the sofa, she hurried to the opposite door in the sitting room and peered out. The way was clear, and Emmaline darted forward again—only to freeze a second later as she realized her father’s study lay between her and the exit. She would have to cross to the other side of the doorway.
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